His Scars, Your Scars
by Crimson1
Summary: When Len finds out Barry neglected to mention he's destined to die when he goes back to his time after helping Barry save the love of his life, it stands to reason he's willing to listen to Savitar's side of the story. And when Savitar makes Len an offer, it is far too tempting to refuse.


**Coda to the Captain Cold episode at the end of Season 3 of The Flash, which at the time I wrote this hadn't happened yet. I posted this to AO3 and somehow forgot to post it here.**

 **I'm not going to warn any non-con, because Len is all on board, but there is that feeling that if he wasn't, Savitar probably wouldn't be happy about it. So it's a little rough at times, but overall sort of kind of...sweet? And actually ends way happier than canon gave us.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Len doesn't recognize his surroundings. It could be anywhere. Any time. But the space is open, a single large room with a bed, table, chairs—

They don't make it to the bed.

Len's on the table before the door closes behind them—if it ever opened, maybe they phased through it—on his back, legs spread and dangling as _he_ crowds in between them. Len can't think of him as Savitar. It's too alien, too dark. But then…so is he now, remolded from fire and pain and madness.

Barry's eyes are fierce and untamed like an animal more than a man—like a child, hungry and determined to get everything he desires. His smile is unhinged more than seductive as he leans over Len slowly to counter the whirlwind that brought them here.

"Do you want to know what It feels like to be fucked by a god?"

Len should laugh. Snatch up the cold gun still at his hip and fire to save his skin, because he doesn't bow to any gods. But this one makes a tempting offer and he does look so good in black. And silver, it turns out.

"What's in it for me?" Len says instead, feigning bravado and control he doesn't have, how could he, when Barry might as well be a god like this.

If Len refuses him or tries to fight, he'll likely get a nice hole in his chest for his trouble, which is hardly appealing, but he doesn't tremble or beg for anyone. Besides, though rebelling is in his nature, he doesn't want to deny Barry this, or himself, the one chance he'll likely ever get to ride a lightning bolt and live to tell the tale.

"Besides the obvious?" Barry says, one hand sliding up Len's thigh, the other already opening his slacks where Len is hard and dripping from the start of this seduction, miles, ages, lifetimes away from here. "Don't act like you never wanted this, Cold."

Oh how Len has wanted this but never dreamed he'd get it, certainly not in a dark and devious package without the moral hang-ups to get in the way. He doesn't even mind the scars; they become this version of the boy who once touted the good in Len only to prove the wickedness in himself. The one thing that could mar him and never heal was the Speed Force itself, but the real scars go deeper, Len knows, the sort of wounds that come from words as much as blows, from neglect and longing and loss.

Now they're equals, which makes it only too easy to surrender and urge Barry to rid Len of any barriers between them with a raise of his hips. "Been flirting with you since day one, kid. You're the one playing hard to get."

Barry chuckles, removing the cold gun first and setting it aside, but still within reach like a test, a challenge— _go on, try it_ —making Len shiver in anticipation. There's no more lightning, not now. Barry drags Len's pants down his thighs slowly, then presses tellingly forward to connect more intimately than they've ever been before through jeans and the thin fabric of Len's underwear.

"Half that statement's true at least."

Len bucks up, trembling for much better reasons than fealty as he grabs Barry by the collar of his jacket to yank him down. "Do gods always talk this much?" Len growls and kisses Barry with a heady claim.

He doesn't want a slave, he said. Doesn't want another follower to worship him, he has plenty of those. He wants a consort. A partner. Someone who can keep up with him without shying away from the destruction and bodies left in his wake. Len can be that. He's longed for that. He never wanted immortality alone. Figured the closest he'd come was his reputation and memorable deeds, and even that he's tried to share with Lisa, Mick…

The Legends.

Barry's tongue is one smooth twirl urging him to battle back, but Len falters. It all changes if he doesn't return. That's how this started because Barry—the _other_ Barry—stole him for a job from a time almost a year into the past.

* * *

A theft Len could handle. Doesn't mean he'd agree. But with the offer coming from The Flash himself, how could he refuse? He'd dreamed of what that boy could be if his walk on the wild side was more than playtime pretending to be 'Sam'. The Scarlet Speedster on Len's crew for real would have been the greatest thrill of all.

And it was thrilling. Fun. But Barry left out important details, such a noble soul and all, to protect him and his. He's the bad guy now and the hero all in one.

Or two, in this case.

Len played his part, but Barry lied. It's not so simple as putting Len back where he came from when a metal monster opens up and reveals that same boyish face inside, just scarred and wilder, and tells Len he's about to die.

"You saved all of them, Snart. You died a hero," Barry tries to reason with him when Len stands with mirror images on either side of him, one in red, the other in black next to a metal suit with glowing blue and more speed than yellow lightning—he's white when he moves. He's _invisible_ unless he wants to be seen. " _Please_ , Snart."

What choice is there when Barry's talking hypotheticals of events for Len that have yet to pass? "Plead your case, kid," he says to _Savitar_. "If we're playing Bachelor," he taps his cold gun against his palm, "who gets the rose?"

"Snart, don't—"

But that other Barry, the darker one with scars and intensity, looks at Len and grins.

Len doesn't expect to end up in the woods the night he first saw Barry's face.

He's a spectator this time, several yards away, peeking through the trees. The darker, scarred Barry is there with him, out of the metal suit, a devil on Len's shoulder, whispering, "Are you eyeing opportunity over there, Cold, or a conquest?"

The Len from long ago is biting his lip, looking Barry Allen up and down when the offer to play nice is given. Of course Len was thinking of more tantalizing ideas than a truce, but silly speedster that the kid was back then, he never seemed to notice.

"Do those glowing eyes help you see the obvious?" Len tilts his head back and feels the brush of breath against his cheek. "'Bout time, I was starting to get embarrassed for you."

Barry chuckles at Len's ear and it's refreshingly sinister. "Why didn't I see it before, Cold? You're perfect."

"Well, I don't like to toot my own horn—" Len starts to turn but the air is knocked from him as he's zipped to a tree and slammed into it. Barry's breathing hard, heavy, licking his lips and looking over Len's body like Len used to do to him without the kid ever catching wise.

"I have many who praise me. Some I raise up to serve me. But no one beside me," Barry says, fingers tangling in Len's parka knuckle-white, electricity in the air from his mere presence making Len tingle from the power. "He thought he could change the rules and snatch you up, turn you against me. Thought he could change _you_ to be more like him. But wouldn't you rather have a version of me— _have_ me," he snaps his teeth like a shark, panting like he's riled up and _aching_ , "any and every way you've ever wanted me—who would never ask for you to change?"

The devil's offers wouldn't carry so much weight if they weren't tempting.

Intrigued more than terrified, though this Barry is frightening, Len speaks the only response that seems worthy. "Prove it."

* * *

Len's not entirely sure how that led to them being here, but then things always move fast with Barry Allen, no matter which persona is attached to him.

Grinding into Len, Barry rolls his hips, and there's too much/too little friction with fabric still between them when Len is _this_ hard and it has been _so_ long.

"Never thought I'd say this," Len's short of breath with the way Barry bites almost too sharply at his earlobe, "but can you _hurry it up already_? Foreplay's fun and all, kid, but after we're out of these clothes."

Another daunting chuckle rumbles past Barry's lips, like Len is one stray word away from chaos and disaster—just the way he likes it, as long he's still in control. And somehow he feels like he is, though he shouldn't, he knows he shouldn't, this kid is crazy, spent eternity in a Speed Force prison and can't possibly see the world as anything but a blur. Yet when he says he wants a _partner_ , Len can't help but be possessive of that challenge to wrangle the god of speed as his own.

A rush of air and Len is on the bed, boots and socks gone, pants tugged from his ankles, but otherwise still dressed. Barry stands at the foot of the bed and drops his jacket, but each movement after that is a fast-forward jolt—shirt off, pants down, then he's on the bed, prowling at human speed once more, naked and unashamed.

The scar on his face doesn't continue down his neck but starts again just past his ribs, a swath of twisted tissue down his side to mid-thigh like road rash from the walls of his Speed Force prison.

Len doesn't feel the anxiety he sometimes succumbs to with others when he pulls his arms from the parka and lifts the sweater over his head to reveal his own collection of scars in telling, sporadic patterns across his skin. He leaves the parka beneath him like an extra blanket, sees the way Barry's eyes darken when he glances at the navy and fur framing Len's body, but there's still the underwear left.

He expects Barry to take care of that, but before he does, he parts Len's thighs, hunkers in close like he had on the table, running his hands up Len's stomach and down again, then spreads his fingers in the crease of Len's hips and bends low between his legs.

"I miss this," he says, not quite wistfully, "the way it feels to touch someone. The way it feels to _be_ with someone. Will you unravel for me, Cold?" he huffs hot air on Len through his soaked shorts. "Will you prostrate yourself in worship if I make you scream my name?"

 _Fuck_ , does Barry sound sexy talking like that. "Thought you wanted an equal," Len huffs, but keeps his gaze and his breathing steady. "I'll scream your name if you scream mine, but I ain't worshipping anyone." Taunting a megalomaniac with superpowers probably isn't the best idea, yet it keeps drawing out the exact reaction Len wants.

The mad grin spreads wider across Barry's face and he descends, sucking in Len's tip right through the fabric. It's so much more than Len would have believed sweet Barry Allen was capable of, with his nemesis in some unknown room, holding death and panic in the wings no matter what Len decides when this is over.

If he stays…does that mean the Legends die? Does Mick die? And Sara? And Raymond? And Jax…?

"Even the _smell_ … _fuck_ , I missed it," Barry says and sucks Len in deeper, underwear and all, soaking it as he burrows his nose forward.

He likes to call Len 'Cold' more than Snart now, Len's noticed, because to him, he's Savitar, so their codenames mean more than the truth. Len's purposely tried not to call him 'Scarlet' or 'Barry' when those names mean someone else now. So Len can be Cold. He embraced that moniker long ago.

And yet, if ever there was an angel on his shoulder to counter all his demons, it's gnawing at his ear now, far less pleasantly than Barry had.

 _This isn't Barry. He's a killer. He wants to kill them all. Iris at least, the woman he once loved._

Len shakes that thought away, because…he's a killer too. He has no connection to Team Flash. He owes Cisco and Caitlin for Lisa, but the good doctor's already flown the coop to join Savitar. Maybe this is the wave of the future, and Len can be on the throne instead of cowering among the masses if only he takes hold of what's offered.

"I want to feel those lips on _skin_ ," he says gruffly, hoarse and ragged now. "Show me what a god can do, kid. Show me…"

Barry is all challenge and eagerness when he looks up, and through the menacing shadow in his gaze, there's something familiar there that reminds Len of their fights, back in the beginning going toe to toe. Len's cold gun has been left on the table, but as different as this battle is, it's similar all the same.

His underwear is gone in a flash of light and Barry's back in place in seconds, hovering close, tongue snaking out before he coils around Len's tip and dives down— _all the way_ —taking Len in like he could swallow him whole. Len moans, doesn't fight it, doesn't muffle the pleasure and volume in the sound, because this is everything he wants right now and damn is he going to enjoy it.

"Always knew you'd look good like that," Len says, teasing the hungry tiger with a curl of his fingers in Barry's hair and a subtle rock of his hips. If Savitar wants someone worthy to stand beside him, Len has to play the part and never, ever bend.

Barry growls almost like a pulse, buzzing around Len's length, and when he pulls up, his lips are shiny and reddened and all Len can think about is tasting them. He clutches Barry's hair tighter and pulls him up by the back of his neck until Barry is on him, climbing his body and kissing Len exactly the way he wants. It's all salt and hedonistic bliss. Flash never could have given Len this—but Savitar can.

"You'll be my consort, but I'm still the god of speed," Barry says, and Len knows he means it and thinks of himself as untouchable. "I get to claim you."

"Doesn't sound very equal," Len says, tightening his hold on Barry's neck, the other sliding down his scarred side, while Barry settles between his thighs, length dragging up Len's stomach, wet and burning hot.

Barry cants his hips forward, seeking friction that Len bucks into so they collide, heat against heat. "You can claim me too," he says, flush and quaking with the urge to go faster. "Any time you want. Any _way_ you want. But tonight is mine, because I'm making the offer, Cold, and you still haven't said yes." Surging down too fast for Len to react, he latches onto Len's neck like he's going for blood, but his teeth show restraint and his tongue laps at the marks left behind as he grinds down—again. _Again_.

"And here I thought this was all _enthusiastic_ consent," Len gasps, bitten off whines spilling forth as he brings his legs up to wrap around Barry's waist.

That dark chuckle is going to be the death of him. "I mean the rest, Cold. I mean all of it." Barry licks Len's neck and reaches down between them to wrap both of their lengths in his long fingers and _strokes_. "I mean forever."

Len won't last long like this, but _fuck_ if he isn't going to strive for a personal best. "That's quite the proposal…and I don't even get a ring?"

"I'll get you anything you want." Barry slides his hand lower to tease a fingertip across Len's entrance, making it very clear how he plans to claim him. "We can even steal one together."

Bucking upward makes that teasing finger brush Len's puckered skin all the more. Barry's serious, even though Len shouldn't have expected less. But he's really offering _forever_ , when he seems to be immortal. Can he make Len immortal too? There are so many questions, angles and amendments to be made beyond the writhing contact of skin.

"The details can come later," Barry snatches the thoughts from his mind, "but I need an answer now. Be mine and I'll give you everything." His hands falls away, hips stilling, weight bearing down on Len to bring everything to a stop.

Fair enough, Len understands how a deal is brokered, getting the other exactly where you want them only to leave them begging for more. "And if one day I decide I'm bored with you?" he asked, tightening the coil of his ankles at Barry's lower back.

The kid grins and Len knows if that day ever came, this wouldn't end nicely. "You'll never get bored with me, Cold. I promise you that."

"And if you tire of me?"

"Unlikely as that is…" he sinks lower, lips nearly grazing Len's and the hardness between them pressing tight, "I'll drop you off wherever and whenever you want, and we'll part as friends."

That, Len knows, is an utter lie, yet it doesn't sully the offer, because he knows that if he really gives into this, to Barry, to _Savitar_ , bored is something they'll never be.

"Do you doubt me?" Barry asks.

"Not yet." Len looks deep into those green eyes swirling with traces of everything Len sees in the mirror, and taunts the tiger one last time, "I'm still waiting to be convinced."

Barry's on him almost before the last word finishes, Len's breath stolen by his seeking tongue. The speed comes in sudden surges and smooths out in languid peaks and valleys like a rollercoaster. Their bodies move in time to that impossible rhythm only Barry can make real, flipping them so Len's on top, only to roll back again so the kid might as well be riding Len, and oh that would be the crux of the matter if only they'd _connect_ , but it seems Barry is waiting for Len to ask.

"Convinced yet?" he whispers in Len's ear, every inch of them flush and breaths shuddering as they drive each other to the brink with only thrusts and frantic clutching.

"You got supplies in this den of iniquity?"

"I can have anything I want the moment I want it."

"Because you're the god of speed?" Len marvels at the boy who uncoils from him with a long stretch of his neck.

"Exactly."

Barry's gone and back in barely a breath, a bottle and even a condom hitting the bed beside them, of which the latter Len is almost certain is only a courtesy the _god_ before him doesn't deem necessary but provided anyway. Such a benevolent deity. At the moment.

A long slick digit finds Len open and ready, far more so than he should be with a man this unbalanced. But maybe they can balance each other. After all, that's what Barry's really asking for, and Len— _fuck_ , the slide of that finger—wants to feel alive, wants to _be_ alive, and grasp something that's been missing long enough for him to sign up to save the world without realizing it's a suicide mission.

This is better. This is dreams fulfilled that Len never expected he'd know in the light of day, let alone outside the recesses of his mind.

A second finger has him panting heavier, but he won't whimper, won't say Barry's name or any words of praise until it's earned. He'll never bend, but that doesn't mean he minds being _bent_.

Two fingers pressing in and stroking slowly along his corners and edges and intimate curves, has Len despising Barry for choosing now to take his time. Len can't stop the subtle motion of his hips seeking more, begging for more, though he won't let the words leave him. If Barry's a god and Len is his consort, then he gets to be a god too.

"How much do you want it?" he says. "You like me like this, kid? Your pupils are blown black, you want it so bad. Just admit it. Coz I can ride this out all night. You know how I like to slow you down." He's half bluffing, because he's going to come from just this if Barry doesn't hurry up, but it's worth it when Barry breaks first, looking enthralled with everything Len is—just as a god should be with its equal.

Barry pulls his fingers free and steadies himself at Len's entrance, breaching him slow to start but not stopping until they're connected _all the way_ and Len is certain he's seeing stars behind his eyes when he clenches them shut and revels in how good it feels to be filled after all that teasing. He isn't claimed by just anyone.

Waiting for the first backstroke, he wraps his arms around Barry's neck and pulls him close. "So what do I call you…when I scream your name? _Savitar_? Coz sorry, handsome, but that doesn't roll off the tongue all that well."

"No," Barry says, face hidden in the crook of Len's shoulder and voice more serious than it's been all night. "When you say my name…it's _Barry_."

There's a sting of truth and weight and permanence to this, Len realizes.

Before Barry breaks it with a snicker. "Do I call you Lenny?"

" _Len_ , kid," Len has to laugh. "Just Len."

Relief floods him as Barry finally _moves_ and he's able to give in without having to be quiet or subdued. He doesn't know why he expects them to stay on the bed. He's with a speedster, after all.

One moment Len's folded in half and quite content to stay there, the next he's on the table where they started with Barry rutting into him, then he's spun and pressed face first to the wall, then held up with his back against the wall, then bent over the table and _fuck_ , that presses Barry in deep, before finally, _finally_ Len finds himself back on his parka, the fur from the hood brushing his cheek as he lays on his side with Barry behind him, wrapped around him, holding him close as he finishes and pumps Len in his hand until he follows swiftly after him.

The entire ordeal is a whirlwind just like Barry, but Len doesn't feel dizzy, he feels elated. He shouldn't be so exhausted when all the effort was on Barry's part, but he honestly feels like that rush of adrenaline from a 500 foot drop at the start of this rollercoaster never once left him.

"Convinced…now?" Barry says.

Len is shaking, body thrumming like he's never known before. If Barry is a god, then Len feels that thrill of possessiveness flow through him, of the offer to have this every day, all his, _only his_ , because a treasure like Barry Allen is something he could never steal. It had to be offered. Len had to be _invited_.

He really has made a deal with the devil.

Shifting to face Barry, sheened with sweat and hair mussed in the afterglow, the madness seems dimmed now in those hazel eyes. Barry looks at Len like he's the one to be marveled at and runs his fingers down Len's face as if the two of them are living a mythic love story and forever is something tangible they can touch. Maybe it is now, for this version of Barry.

Len's mind drifts to the ship he was taken from and the people on it who, as implausible as it seems, are counting on him. He doesn't mean to lose his awe in that moment of distraction, but Barry sees it and the fire ignites in his eyes once more.

"You want to save your friends, don't you? Play martyr? Do it," he mouths along the skin of Len's jaw, whispering, "We'll con The Flash together. Let him put you back where he took you from. I'll come for you. When the light gets so bright, you're sure you're done for, I'll be there to take you away. As long as you swear to be mine. You'll owe them nothing. You'll have _died_ for them. You can be free to live however you want, have whatever you want, go anywhere, everywhere—with me. Together we can own the universe, every span of time and corner of existence."

"After you kill Miss West?"

Barry sneers as he pulls away, "It's her or me."

For a brief moment, Len feels that shock of fear he's been ignoring, knowing the precarious path he walks. "Cause and effect doesn't work that way, Barry. You wouldn't cease to exist. A paradox maybe?"

"I'd be an anomaly, more so than I am already, and something dark and deadly would come for me. To _erase_ me."

"Thought you could outrun anything," Len tries with a tired smirk.

"You're trying to save her," Barry snarls, gripping Len's arm too tightly, enough to hurt—to _bruise_.

But Len understands—Barry doesn't want to be betrayed and abandoned again. "Needless death gets messy."

"She _needs_ to die. I told you."

"Sounds like she still owns you. Or maybe _he_ does," Len says, choosing each word carefully. "You care so much about ruining him. You hate him. Blame him for all that heartache you pretend not to feel. Oh, kid," he huffs a bitter laugh, "that's the worst way to give someone power over you. But change the game, leave them wanting more, and you have all the real power, no longer bound to anyone."

"Like you?" Barry says in a small voice for such a deadly expression. "No longer bound to your friends?"

Len knows the real question, because it's the same one Barry's been asking since the start. "If you come for me, I'm yours," he says without guile or guilt. "But come _free_ or don't bother. I don't want you tethered to ghosts."

The kid grows silent, but his grip slackens and Len knows he's in the clear, even if he can't be sure for Miss West. If ever he owed Flash and his fellows anything, he did his duty by taking that risk. That's enough. Whether it amounts to anything is up to chance.

"A tempting offer," Barry says at long last, but he doesn't admit if he'll accept the terms. Still, softening once more, stroking Len's cheek and pulling him in for a final, slow kiss, he says, "Look for me. I'll be there."

* * *

Len doesn't expect Barry to keep his word. He's a villain now, after all, obsessed and broken. He'll likely have no choice but to try and fail to kill Miss West, and The Flash will prevail as he always does, leaving Len to his fate.

But when the moment comes, and Len _feels_ it coming, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as though the breath of a beast has washed over him, he's still taken by surprise. The light grows bright, the pain right on the brink of overwhelming him, when lightning strikes and takes his breath away.

"Do you believe in god, Cold?"

Len smiles. One moment, there's only glowing blue staring back at him, but the next…green. "No," he says. "But I believe you promised me the universe, kid. Show me."

* * *

THE END


End file.
